


Grasping at Kisses and Toys

by rogue_pixie88



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Childhood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_pixie88/pseuds/rogue_pixie88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their story, told in kisses from that first meeting as children to adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasping at Kisses and Toys

**Author's Note:**

> Written for heartsonwings. (November 2009)
> 
> Disclaimer: The story is mine, their names and faces are not.
> 
> Mentions of secondary character death.

The day the _For Sale_ sign vanishes from its place wedged in next door’s increasingly untidy and untoward lawn—a source of constant annoyance for the adults on the street—marks a fresh chapter in Jared’s young life. His dad tells him there’ll be new people moving into the house, maybe with a little boy or girl of their own for him to play with. He hopes so. The last couple didn’t have any children, only a dog that burst any balls Jared happened to lose over the fence. And they always shouted rudely when he got swept up in the fantasy of whatever game he was playing and raised his voice a little too much. Someone to join in and not yell at his antics would be nice.

A moving van pulls up a week or so later. The gentle roar of the engine reaches Jared sat in the kitchen at the table, watching his mom prepare lunch and listening to the soft lilt of her singing along with the radio. He leaves her there to investigate, settling on the front porch to observe, a glass of lemonade beside him. He becomes caught up in imagining his new neighbors, who they are and what they like, as men wander back and forth purposefully, ferrying cardboard boxes and pieces of furniture similar to the ones his mom and his dad have arranged in the den. The last few boxes hold more excitement than the previous ones—they’re so full of brightly colored toys that it can only mean his dad was right: Jared is going to have someone to play with.

After an age of waiting impatiently—and a quick dash inside to please his mom by eating lunch—a car finally parks behind the empty moving van and Jared wriggles in anticipation. The man and woman who climb out remind him of his own parents, dressed casually and smiling widely. They stare at the house, fond expressions warming their faces and then the woman turns to help the last member of their family from the car. Jared immediately feels drawn to the boy; he likes his smile and the way his eyes sparkle, even from far away. The boy brushes light bangs from his face and catches sight of Jared. He waves before joining his waiting parents on the garden path.

Jared surges to his feet and rushes indoors, bursting from the urge to tell his mom all about the neighbors. He chatters relentlessly about the boy especially, the toys he has and the hypnotic action of sweeping his hair out of the way. He finishes with a serious proclamation of: “We’re going to be friends forever, mom.” She asks why he’s so sure and shakes her head good-naturedly when he grins a toothy grin, all bright and beautiful, and replies solemnly, “He’s wearing the same Star Wars t-shirt as me, mom. The _same one_.”

*

Jared first kisses Jensen on the afternoon of Jensen’s seventh birthday.

They’ve been banished to the garden so the adults can finish the preparations for the party later on minus the added hindrance of two over-excited boys, hopped up on sugar, underfoot. Bold banners and balloons are being strung up in pleasing patterns, while festive tablecloths cover the surface, ready for the tempting mountain of food sitting in the pantry.

They find refuge under the largest tree in the Ackles’ backyard and sit Indian style in the blessed shade. Resting on the grass between them is a plate of gooey, chocolate cupcakes Jensen pilfered with artful skill as Jared offered convincing distraction to both their moms about a vividly imagined injury, accompanied with appropriate streams of tears—leaving them perfectly oblivious to the theft.

In the garden’s safety, the boys high-five their victory and begin to chew steadily through the baked confection, smacking their lips in appreciation around full mouths that in no way disrupt attempts at earnest conversation. Jared’s finished his third cake when he remembers his dad talking to him about taking things that don’t belong to him without permission. Suddenly, he feels extremely guilty. The unwelcome emotion makes the chocolate taste funny on his tongue, bitter, and makes his tummy churn.

“Do you think your mom’ll be mad we took these? Aren’t they for the party?” Jensen dusts brown crumbs from his jeans and bumps Jared’s shoulder with his own—a comforting gesture that appeases him somewhat.

“Nah, my mom spent all day yesterday baking, there’ll be more for everyone else. ‘Sides, these are yours and mine. I iced them special.”

Not noticing previously, his mind being only on eating their spoils, Jared inspects the untouched cupcakes, keen to understand Jensen’s nonchalant attitude. Decorating the shiny icing in wobbly green lines is the letter J. It might not seem special to anyone except Jared, but to him it means a lot. None of the other kids attending the party have a name beginning with that particular letter. These are for them, and only them. The sight instantly stills Jared’s earlier guilt.

The plate is nearly empty, save for errant crumbs and dark smudges of icing, when Jared thinks of the tiny package hidden secretly and carefully in the pocket of his hoodie. Weeks ago, out shopping with his mom for clothes because he’d grown again, Jared spotted the perfect gift for Jensen and begged her to buy it for him to give, promising to keep his toys tidy and eat his greens at dinner for a whole week if she did. She’d purchased the item, laughing prettily when he’d compared the silver charm hanging delicately on a black leather cord to Jensen.

Cleaning the stickiness from his fingers using the moist tip of his tongue so as not to ruin the wrapping of the gift, Jared delves into his pocket to retrieve it. He should save it until everyone else gives theirs; Jared wants this to be just between the two of them. Jared experiences an unexplained shyness as Jensen takes it from him after wiping his own hands. What if he hates it?

Jared’s gaze is held raptly by the deft fingers that split the paper carefully. Jensen’s cupped palm catches the necklace, and lovingly curious fingertips probe the charm. The glee in his best friend’s lips chases the worry away, the intensity of his gratitude warms Jared’s heart. Even better, the smile Jensen shares isn’t the one he uses when other kids at recess talk to him, or this morning’s to his parents when they gave him a blue bike, or when the nice lady across the street bakes them more chocolate chip cookies than Jared can manage. It’s _his_ smile. The open one no one will ever see but Jared.

“Thanks, Jay,” Jensen says. “It’s awesome.”

The cord slides easily over Jensen’s ears and rests on his body like it was meant to fit there, snuggled in the hollow of his throat. Jared’s hand reaches out of its own accord to skim over the charm; Jensen’s hand intercepts it and squeezes once. A tingle buzzes under Jared’s skin, startling him into leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his friend’s cheek. Jensen smells of chocolate and soap. He pulls back, hand still grasping Jensen’s, to see he looks, if possible, even happier.

*

Years pass until Jared is inclined to kiss Jensen again and sadly, it isn’t at another celebration.

They’re in attendance of a funeral, mourning the departure of Jensen’s beautiful, kind-hearted mom, stolen from her family and closest friends in a tragic accident. It was an unforeseen and brutally unexpected collision that Jared can see all too well has ripped Jensen into unrecognizable pieces of hurt.

The cemetery is awash in clear spring air and warm rays of yellow sun glinting from polished marble headstones; a picturesque scene that belays the dreadful occasion today is. In every movie Jared’s seen and all the books he’s read, there have always been heavy rainclouds staining the sky, casting grim shadows over everything. Except here, in real life, the skies have chosen to remain bright and free of gloom, mocking those who grieve with sunny horizons.

Everyone who thought highly of Jensen’s mom in life is gathered in a tight cluster of smart black suits, conservative dresses and shiny shoes around her burial site, their heads bowed deep in respect aiding the descent of tears. Jared forgoes his spot next to his own parents to stand closely at Jensen’s side, forming with Jensen’s dad one half of a protective barrier, trying to not wince at the iron clad grasp Jensen has on his hand. Numbness takes over his fingertips and there are crescent shaped nail marks digging into the fleshy whorls of his skin. He doesn’t let the discomfort bother him; Jared would quite gladly, and not with a moment’s hesitation, give up every nerve sensitive to touch in his body if it’d make Jensen feel better, if Jensen could have his mom back.

Once the Priest’s sympathetic intonations fade away, the dark crowd begins to disperse, movement towards their awaiting vehicles sluggish and slow. The destination is the Ackles’ house, where refreshments are being served to distract from the loss and drown the empty void with alcohol and fond memories of the woman Jensen’s mom was. Jared doesn't covet the custom, it seems too much like a party for such a solemn instance but his parents insisted it was the traditional thing to do.

Briefly, he separates from Jensen so his friend can draw comfort from his surviving parent, cling onto his dad more relentlessly than Jared’s ever seen. Usually Jensen is quite happy with a one armed hug from his father or a playful cuff to his arm. Sometimes a simple high-five was all he needed. Not now though. Jared suspects he requires contact a little longer lasting, more tangible, to remind him that he isn’t completely alone. The Ackles part reluctantly and the older excuses himself with a final squeeze of Jensen’s shoulder to thank the Priest and accept further babbles of repetitive condolences.

Jensen stares so hard at the patch of earth that swallowed his mom moments ago, Jared wonders if he’s really seeing it, really beginning to understand the change in his life or if he’s resolutely ignoring it, and fooling himself that the past few days has all been a wicked nightmare.

Unsure what to do, Jared lingers behind him a little, far enough away so as not to smother Jensen but close enough for Jensen to reach out for him if he needs. Jensen’s shoulders begin to shudder and a desperate noise breaks from his throat. The sound is so alien, so strange, Jared tries to process it quickly and associate it with his friend. Crying. For the first time since the awful news was shared and shattered his world irreparably, Jensen is crying.

Two short steps later Jared is hugging the sobbing body closely to him, ignoring the glare his mom shoots him. Nothing is going to prevent Jared from giving support to Jensen, not even that sharp expression from his mom that’s often effective at stopping him in his tracks no matter what he’s doing. In the protective circle of Jared’s embrace Jensen is free to cry, hidden from whoever might be watching.

Unable to muster up as well worded a sentiment an eleven year old can express to convey what he feels, Jared lets Jensen cling to him and kisses his friend’s forehead. Words whisper against his throat, rough and raw from tears, “I’m glad you’re here, Jay.”

“Me, too, Jen.”

*

During the wake, Jensen doesn’t leave the soothing presence of Jared’s side for more than a few seconds, only acknowledging those who offer condolences when they seek him out. He nods tiredly, such a small action taking monumental force to execute, and utters a soft _thank-you_ , shying away from the pity in their eyes.

Jared’s relieved that Jensen is staying with them tonight; his dad still needed to deal with a few things and it would be easier on Jensen if he wasn’t there so the Padaleckis had opted to look after him. Having Jensen in the very next bed is the only way Jared can see himself getting any kind of rest tonight. He needs to be close to his distraught friend, close enough to reach him.

Once at home, his mom sets about in flurry of action, fussing about pillows and blankets and glasses of water to take to bed. Her attitude makes Jared want to yell at her to just _stop_. She’s playing the gracious host to the poor, motherless boy under her roof, making sure he’s comfortable and remaining blatantly ignorant to the echo of pain in Jensen’s eyes. Surely, he’s remembering all the little things his own his mom did for him—the tiny, insignificant gestures that he took for granted and assumed they’d always be there.

Jared’s never been more grateful when his dad dismisses them for the night. He never thought he’d be so pleased to hear the usually dreaded _time for bed, boys_. His mom follows them unnecessarily to switch the light off, offering a quiet _goodnight_ and closing the door.

The room is silent in her absence, apart from the occasional creak when Jared shifts on the springy camp bed or the hiccupped breaths Jensen draws in. It’s so different to any other time they’ve spent the night at one another’s house. There’s no building expansive bedding forts, an artistic display of architecture using sheets and pillows, or planning secret midnight excursions to the cookie jar when the house is asleep. Ghost stories of dismemberment and nighttime gore told in eerie whispers under white beams of torchlight are in no way appropriate. Scaring each other with talk of gruesome death isn’t so fun when real horror has touched them. Perhaps there won’t ever be a time for them again.

A lifetime of lying awake and contemplating all that loss actually affects drags by achingly slow and Jared asks, voice low and quiet, “Jen, you awake?”

The last thing he wants to do is rouse Jensen from whatever tentative sleep he might’ve grasped so he accepts the lack of response and makes to roll over to find sleep himself and put the strain of today behind him. A whoosh of frigid night-time air sluices over Jared’s bare legs unexpectedly, instinctively making him curl up to retain warmth as the blanket lifts. Springs grate deafeningly loud at the added weight of a solid body huddling into Jared’s side. Jensen cocoons them in the blanket, their own private bubble of mutual love, as they move to lie chest to chest. Jensen’s heart beat thuds into Jared’s flesh, his breath puffs gently into his throat causing the hair on his nape to prickle; his hand fists delicately in the cotton of Jared’s pyjamas.

The comfort of their new sleeping arrangement has all but lulled Jared to sleep when a clumsy mouth pushes into his own, just the once—a join of two people so fleeting Jared thinks he might have imagined it. Jensen settles back under Jared’s chin with a sigh.

“Night, Jared.”

“Night.”

Jared thinks he should probably maneuver Jensen back to his own bed. However, he doesn’t have the heart to disrupt the peaceful rhythm of sleep. He worries his lip—his lip tastes different, tastes of Jensen—at his mom though. She was furious earlier at the keen sighting of him clutching Jensen as if he never wanted to let go. He doesn’t want to suppose what she’d do if she found them like this—wrapped up so tightly together they may as well be one entity, two halves of the same whole, legs tangled and entwined.

As if Jensen can hear him thinking he finds Jared’s hand under the blanket and squeezes. “Sleep, Jay.”

And Jared does. Dreams of Jensen and tiny, secret kisses and clasped hands haven’t ever been so sweet.

*

It isn’t that Jared hates parties or having a semi-decent social life—he gets on great with the other kids at school, partly because he holds off on judging the ones who choose to spend their weekends drinking themselves into a stupor, but parties mean he has to share Jensen with everybody else. And he’s a popular guy. There’s always someone to sidle up and lead Jensen away with a _we’re just borrowing him for a minute, Jared_. Now they’re sixteen they’re expected to step out of their tight knit duo and be friends with other sixteen year olds, but it has Jared reminiscing a time they were younger and each other was all they needed.

This time he tried to politely decline. A night not spent in Jensen’s company wasn’t going to kill him and maybe he could write that report that was meant to be done last week. Funnily enough, he hadn’t so much as _looked_ at the damn thing because Jensen always had something far more appealing for them to do. Alas, he’s constantly underestimating the level Jensen’s pleading can reach. Resistance to such a strong sway is useless.

Hence, the reason he’s now standing on the doorstep of one of their basketball buddies next to Jensen, fiddling absently with the hem of the button-down shirt Jensen said he should wear, planning to put his dramatic escape plan into action as soon as opportunity arises. Jensen endures his fidgeting with exaggerated rolls of his eyes for about thirty seconds, before poking his elbow into Jared’s ribs.

“Jay, chill. It’s a party. You know, fun with our friends? Stop looking like we’ve been dragged to another of your mom’s events and you want to be anywhere but here.”

Jared hates the reprimand. He came didn’t he? Jensen asked— _begged_ —and he came. He keeps it quiet he’d rather be at one of his mom’s fundraising events—the alcohol there is always kept out of his reach, damn good thing too. That way he stays sober and isn’t going to do something regretfully embarrassing, like kiss Jensen, for example. It was fine for them to do that as little kids but Jared thinks if he did that now, Jensen would, at the least, punch him. And then refuse to so much as spare him a glance in the future.

His body is geared up and ready to run away as fast as his long legs will carry him, only to be foiled by the door being thrown open. Jared is instantly hit with a torrent of party atmosphere, strong and lively; loud music full of bass reverberates against the walls, a steady hum of voices buzz back and forth like a swarm of bees, and the strong aroma of beer and sweat cloys the air. One expectant expression from Jensen later, Jared finds himself squashed onto a couch, a can of cold soda in his hand, and praying for the night to end already.

Somewhere between his third soda and prying a handsy girl from his algebra class off his thigh, Jared realizes Jensen hasn’t been sitting next to him for a while now. He vaguely recalls him finishing a beer and going in search of another but that must’ve been ages ago. Jensen’s place has since been occupied by a kid Jared doesn’t recognize at all. After a few questions to the least drunk people he can coax into conversation, Jared gleans Jensen’s probable whereabouts: outside to clear his head.

Sure enough, Jensen’s sat on an old wooden swing, gliding on it, head thrown back to gaze up at the night sky. Jared takes a seat on the swing, marveling at how far away the noise of the party sounds out here in the relative peace and quiet of the garden.

“My head hurts, Jared,” Jensen admits and leans heavily on his shoulder. “My dad’s gonna kick my ass if I’m drunk.”

“There’s no _if_ , Jensen. You _are_ drunk,” Jared snorts. Even underneath the taint of alcohol, Jensen still smells good to him, all coconut shampoo and whatever cologne he wore tonight. It’s intoxicating Jared’s synapses like beer never would.

“Maybe.” Jensen’s tone is so small and petulant that Jared has to crane his neck to look at him in his pathetic state. Maybe catalogue it for future mocking. He’s met with Jensen’s intense stare boring deep into his core; the proximity is near dizzying. He should turn away, break the connection, he’s all too aware of the destination this will take.

Nevertheless, he still gasps a little when Jensen closes the distance, fastening his mouth across Jared’s so perfectly, Jared knows deep down, they were made for this. For each other. Jensen’s tongue is suddenly wet and insistent at the seam of his lips and Jared’s eyes snap open comically so. Despite it being a prominent fantasy of his for who knows how long, Jared’s at a loss at what to do. Surely if he reciprocates, parting his lips and allowing Jensen into his mouth, tongues brushing as one, he’s taking advantage of his inebriated friend? He should pull away; his mind won’t let him. It’s screaming at him _when are you ever going to have this again?_

Against better judgment—his brain is obviously addled from the amount of alcoholic fumes he’s inhaled and the heady aroma of Jensen so close—Jared concedes and kisses him back using equal fervor. It’s messy and uncoordinated, yet unlike any kiss they’ve shared prior to it. The contact is a far cry from childish expressions of friendship and the more grown up notion of comfort from grief. It’s loaded, full of intent, and hormonal teenagers spurred on by beer and discovering the explicit and endless pleasure one mouth can find in the depths of another.

Jensen groans low in his chest—more in pain than enjoyment, though Jared hopes that was present too—and disentangles. Their make out session finished, Jensen slumps into Jared's body. “My head, Jay.”

He takes pity on Jensen’s intolerance to pain and hauls him from their spot on the swing. Memory of the kiss blows into the wind as they make a shaky path towards the house, Jensen relying on Jared to support him in his strong arms, cursing beer and vowing to never drink again.

“Right. ‘Til the next party, at least. C’mon, I need to call your dad to pick us up.”

Jensen’s dad is the lesser of two evils to call in their current predicament. Jared’s folks would flip if they found out Jensen took him to a party and then proceeded to get trashed. Finally they’d have a solid reason to put down the proverbial foot and expressly forbid continued contact with Jensen. Uh-uh, Jensen’s dad it is. He’ll lecture them about the dangers of under age drinking and make Jensen attend classes the next day, hung-over or not, but the punishment will end there.

*

Jensen’s grouchiness at school the following day is all too hilarious for Jared to handle. He bitches at the state of his head, cursing the pounding of the hobnailed boots kicking around his skull, and throws scathing, venom-laced glances at anyone who makes more noise than he deems absolutely necessary. Jared is kept thoroughly amused throughout the day.

History, last period, and Jensen’s delightful personality shrugs off his less-than-upbeat hangover and starts to sound more like the guy Jared knows and loves. The extra slice of cake he’d swiped from Jared by blindsiding him with a cheeky grin no-doubt serving as a cure to what ailed him. As in any history lesson, they sit at the back of the class, well out of eye line to be called on for informed opinions, wearing twin expressions of feigned interest as they briefly broach the subject of last night’s party: what they had heard happened after they’d left and who else was looking worse for wear in homeroom.

The kiss isn’t mentioned.

Truthfully, Jared isn’t quite sure how to take it. Maybe Jensen thinks he was drunk as well, only recalling hazy details not clear enough to discuss. How’s a guy meant to act when he’s had his best friend’s tongue down his throat and enjoyed it, and it doesn’t pop up in any subsequent conversations? Relieved? Disappointed? He’s not alone in contemplating the matter and not having the courage to bring it up, that much is certain. Jensen’s thoughts are occupied with it—evidenced by the page of dates they need to memorize; littered, not with notes, but inked doodles of scratchy pen lips, plump and inviting.

*

The headphones clamped over his ears, blaring out loud music, and his face buried into his pillow aren’t making it any easier to ignore the raised voices of his parents downstairs, hashing out their topic of choice these days in near deafening volume. Jared’s altogether co-dependent friendship with _that Ackles boy_. The term boils Jared’s blood. They aren’t co-dependent, so what if they’re so close? A decade of friendship is what they have.

It all kicked off after a throwaway comment from his dad regarding a few kids, nearly a month ago, drinking too much and getting a little out hand; Jared’s presence at the gathering forgotten by his dad. Not by his mom. Oh no. She rounded on him immediately—where he was trying to remain discreet by staying absorbed in the book in his lap—demanding in a way that left no room for lies or half-truths how much he’d had to drink, what illegal substances he’d consumed and if his virginity remained intact. He survived her inquisition and hastily escaped her wrath, fleeing to the sanctuary of bedroom and the loudest music he owned to drown out the continuation of the fight.

He hears it though. He isn’t a _normal kid_ , hanging out with Jensen all the while. Normal kids have more than one friend. Jensen’s nothing but a _bad influence_ , has been since his mom passed. Clear as a bell chiming in his mind Jared hears what his mom wishes and prays for most and it’s something he can’t even try to comprehend. Fate would never deal such a card.

Eight days later, Jensen and his dad stop by to deliver news that shatters Jared’s world into pieces. Fracturing and splintering into billions upon billions of shards, like a glass vase hitting the ground, too many to put back together. The house that’s been theirs for so long is being sold to another family and Jensen’s moving away from San Antonio. Leaving his and Jared’s favorite hangouts and secret places no one ever ran to but them, leaving _Jared_.

*

“Jared! There’s someone here to see you!”

The shrill screeching of his name snatches Jared rudely from sleep. He curses his mom, and yanks the comforter over his head in the vain hope of returning to his dream—the one where Jensen stayed with him.

In the knowledge that the volume will only increase to a feverish pitch that’ll rupture his eardrums or something equally painful, Jared slouches from under the mountain of blankets and winds an unsteady path downstairs, not bothering to change from the rumpled sweats and t-shirt he slept in. Mini-rebellions to ruffle his mom’s supposed unflappable exterior are a great source of enjoyment.

She’s chatting amicably to their guest on the porch and a spark of insanity whispers to Jared, telling him his dream was some freaky premonition and his elusive friend is going to greet him. Reality brutally pushes the fantasy aside. On the doorstep is a girl his age. She seems to consist of bubblegum pink lips and painted nails and shiny hair that’s far too styled for such a ridiculous hour of the morning. Nails dig sharply into his back, harsher than required, as his mom propels Jared at her.

“Jared, this is Harmony. She’s moved into the empty house next door with her aunt and uncle.”

Typical. Barely a month since Jensen left Jared’s life the same way he arrived—unexpected and following a truck filled with boxes—and already he’s forgotten. Nothing more than a distant recollection. She probably figures if Jared isn’t exposed to the name, to _Jensen’s_ name, he’ll forget his boyhood friend, shedding pointless attachment in the process.

“Wouldn’t it be great if you two made friends before school starts? She’s starting UT in the fall, too.”

When Harmony beams at Jared, putting perfectly white teeth on display, and coyly flicks her hair, he understands his mom's plan. This pretty girl is hoped to steal Jared’s heart and prevent him from clinging to Jensen. She wants him to move on from the friendship she never understood and please her by dating this cookie-cutter girl—thus proving he’s a normal teenager. He’ll be civil to her, to this new girl, but that’s it. No way is she going to replace Jensen. Not in his head and most definitely not in his heart. Distance can’t deliver a blow strong enough to break the bond Jared knows he and Jensen share.

*

Separated by both college and city proves a challenge for Jared to find time to drive and see Jensen. Breaks are spent driving across Texas State, eating into time for other things. When it becomes obvious to the Padaleckis and Jensen’s dad that their sons’ all-important studies are suffering due to their extensive travel and need to maintain a friendship, they veto the constant travel. Instead, the pair is restricted to long phone calls and detailed emails, describing the best and worst of life. Visits are saved for longer holidays—visits that gradually get less frequent. Emails lose huge chunks of monologue, only outlining the odd class, or night out told in the barest form. Phone calls are spent not really talking about anything that matters—why bother if they can’t share everything fully?—and Jared grows accustomed to speaking to Jensen’s voicemail.

Despite the limited contact, he can’t shake the craving he has for Jensen; years of closeness are a near impossibility to overcome. He believes if they can just keep a sliver of what they had, of the easy relationship they’d started as kids, that tiny seed will only need a little attention to bloom and flourish again.

*

A rare e-mail from his mom a little into his third year of school threatens the delicate balance of academia and Jensen—an e-mail that cuts Jared deeper that it should after so long not being in the loop of his friend’s life.

> Jared,
> 
> Ackles’ wedding in San Antonio this weekend. Jensen wants to see you tomorrow, noon @ his hotel.
> 
> Love, mom. xxx

It stings he’s only informed of such an event days prior to its occurrence. He hadn’t even known Jensen was seeing anyone, let alone him being in a relationship serious enough to progress to marriage. Jensen not possessing the decency to call Jared and share the news himself regarding his pending nuptials irks him incredibly. A short email and a pity visit with the groom-to-be show Jared just how these people measure his worth.

*

Jared isn’t prepared for the over whelming rush of emotion that drowns him when Jensen throws open his door, looking as if the knocking had dragged him out of bed, and skips the more traditional vocal greeting for an embrace so tight, Jared struggles to draw breath normally following his release.

The door shut behind them, Jensen casts a cursory glance over Jared who tries to prevent a blush from heating his face under the scrutiny. It’s been a long time since they’ve seen one another— _really_ seen one another—and the men they’ve grown into.

“Damn, Jay. Not such a gangly kid anymore, huh?”

Jared supposes not. He’s bulked up a bit, daily running has filled his frame with muscle and he’s got a few inches on Jensen height wise. Jensen though, has Jared captivated. His hair has changed, cut closer to his head in soft spikes, bangs no longer framing his face. His body is lean and toned under a black tee that clings like a second skin and his freckles only seem to have multiplied since Jared last counted. Jensen as a child and teenager hadn’t given Jared proper clues as to how Jensen the man would affect him—it’s a new experience all together.

Jensen allows Jared to take a seat on the edge of his bed whilst he excuses himself to the bathroom in desperate need of shaving and brushing his teeth. Being here with Jensen, the initial joy of seeing him dissipated, Jared’s suddenly wishing he hadn’t come. There will be no more kisses in their future, Jensen’s going to be a husband soon, belong to another person for the rest of his life.

“Are you sure you have time for this, Jensen? Don’t you have wedding stuff to take care of?”

Jensen leaves the bathroom, cleanly shaven and minty fresh, and leans into the doorframe, his arms crossed over the plane of his chest. Jared’s momentarily caught up on the cord hanging from Jensen’s neck—a cord adorned with a silver charm a small boy gave his closest friend, thinking they’d be forever. Fourteen years down the line and it’s right where it started life.

“Nah, my dad’s handling most of it. I’ve got to turn up, dressed appropriately, and preferably not nursing a hangover. I’m a bit of a grouch after a night of drinking.” Jensen’s grin sparkles with mirth, eyes crinkling at the corners. Jared smiles back; he knows how Jensen is. How he _was_.

“Does your fiancée not want any help? I’m sure she’d rather you spent time with her instead of a guy that was your best friend once upon a time.” Jared fails to keep the bitter lilt from his tone, but Jensen barks a laugh regardless, shaking his head.

“Jared, you realize it’s my dad getting married, don’t you? Your mom told you that, surely?”

Dumbfounded at the revelation Jared’s mouth hangs open in an _o_ of shock. Jensen’s _dad_ is getting married? Not Jensen? Jared quashes the abrupt urge to bounce childishly up and down on the firm mattress to burn off the residual glee. “Your dad?”

“Yeah, Jay. I wanted to uh, to invite you myself. I want you to come with me.”

From the side pocket of Jensen’s open bag, a vaguely recognizable textbook edge blinks innocently into Jared’s vision. He plucks it out of its resting space and holds it in his palm. It falls open to the sharp crack in the spine, broken from repeated viewings, uncovering Jensen’s doodles around dates that mean little nowadays. Years old doodles of lips are faded from the vivid ink of Jared’s memory, the corners dog-eared. Paper flutters to his lap, demanding attention. Closer examination shows it to be a card outlining the details of a funeral, and a folded, aged piece of gift paper. Jensen’s cheeks blaze an embarrassed hue and he’s palming his neck uncomfortably, refusing to meet Jared’s question filled face.

“Jen, what are these things?” He realizes what they are, of course. What eludes him is the reasoning behind Jensen holding onto random items, scraps of life that have stayed intact and preserved due to careful handlings.

“I kept them in case you ever decided that particular kiss was the last you were going to give me. I needed something to remind me of what I could’ve had.” Jensen keeping simple, otherwise meaningless items as sentimental mementoes of kisses Jared had given strikes him in the depths of his heart that there’s hope for them. He’s here now, asking Jared to his dad’s ceremony as— what? A _date_?

All Jared ever wanted for his own is standing nervously before him, awaiting a reaction—rejection or otherwise—open and vulnerable. He’s already certain of what he’s going to do, has been since Jensen corrected his mistake, swept away the misunderstanding.

The book lays forgotten on the bed as Jared takes Jensen into the circle of his arms and moulds them close, planes of flesh flush, limbs winding into one. They fit exactly as they did that day at the cemetery. Reminiscing grows old quickly, and Jared is kissing Jensen. Mouths meet fiercely, tips of wet tongue darting to meet the only other it wants to taste. He holds Jensen tightly—a large hand spanning his back possessively, the other curling around his nape, his touch promising he’s never letting Jensen go. The kiss and the exquisite shift of Jensen in tandem with Jared are breathtaking, and so much more than fantasy and dreams could ever do justice.

Their parting is reluctant, but Jared has a final question. “What are you keeping to remind you of this kiss?”

A dozen responses are possible—ones that have the power to break Jared’s heart, and ones that don’t. Jensen barely hesitates. He whispers hotly into Jared’s mouth the only answer there was ever really going to be, the word caresses Jared’s lips. “You.”

*


End file.
